


Under Fluorescent Lights

by miss_grey



Series: Under Fluorescent Lights [1]
Category: Band of Brothers
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Motels, Pining, Road Trips
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-11
Updated: 2018-05-11
Packaged: 2019-05-05 02:38:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,192
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14607453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miss_grey/pseuds/miss_grey
Summary: Under fluorescent motel lights, Babe and Gene unexpectedly cross paths.





	Under Fluorescent Lights

**Author's Note:**

> I originally wrote this story for the hbowarficexchange, but since it's been canceled, I'm posting here anyway. I hope you guys like it. Gifted for tumblr user heffrcn.

 

 

The air was hot and sticky, thick with humidity on the verge of a storm that _just wouldn’t come._  They’d grown tired, finally, after ten hours of driving and pulled off at a motel just outside of Chattanooga for the night.  They heaved their bags over their shoulders, paid the lady in the front office for a single room with 2 double beds, and trudged to the far edge of the lot, up the stairs, to room 213.  It was the kind of place with dirty white plaster walls on the outside, lime green doors with gold numbers and doorknobs that jiggle just a little too much.  Inside it was much the same: two double beds with multicolored blankets that resembled puke, sheets that had one or two questionable stains, a single rickety chair, an outdated tv, flat carpet that must have been from the 70s, a slightly-rusted bathtub with a long string of dark hair still sitting in the bottom, and a fluorescent light that wouldn’t stop flickering.  It wasn’t the type of place that Babe would have stopped on his own—in fact, it was the type of place his mother had warned him against his whole life.  But tonight was different because Bill was with him, and Babe knew that no matter what sorts of shenanigans they got up to, Bill would never let anything bad happen to him.

The AC didn’t work—not really.  It clanged and chugged and wheezed and a stream of cooler-than-outside air puffed out, but its effectiveness had a five foot radius and Bill had already claimed that bed, saying “Eh, quit your whining, Babe, I pulled over so you could get some sleep, didn’t I?”  And, fair enough, Babe thought.  That was true.  Bill had pulled over because Babe had grown tired and cranky in the passenger seat, his too-long legs butting up against the underside of the glove compartment so that no matter how he twisted and turned, he just couldn’t seem to get comfortable.  So now he huffed a little bit but allowed Bill the good bed, and threw his bag on the other.  God, he couldn’t wait to get a shower and get out of his clothes and just _pass out,_ which was the plan, but then Bill pulled out his phone and stared at it longingly for a minute before he said “I’m gonna call Frannie, alright?”

And maybe Babe liked to tease them both about their need to call each other every day, even while Bill was on a boys-only road trip, but deep down Babe really thought it was sweet.  So Babe just shrugged and said “Yeah, alright, Bill.  I’ll be outside getting’ some air.”

The door creaked behind him as Babe pulled it shut and he was hit with the blast of humidity again.  Granted, it was humid in Philly sometimes, but it never quite felt like this.  This was bad, thick, like he was breathing in water through his skin.  His shirt clung to his back and his arms and his hair felt damp and flat against his head.  It would’ve been terrible, if not for the view. 

The sun had gone down hours ago, but the moon cast enough shadows that Babe could still make out the silhouette of large hills in the distance, trees looming large on the other side of the road.  The neon of the motel light obscured them a bit, but even so, Babe could see the twinkle of fireflies dancing in the tall grass beyond.  It was beautiful, and not something he was used to back home. 

He took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and just allowed himself to feel for a minute.  When he opened his eyes a few minutes later, Babe realized he wasn’t alone, and that he likely never had been. 

Down the walkway near the other side of the line of doors, a man leaned against the railing, silently observing the darkness, a cigarette curling smoke from his hand.  The sight was oddly romantic in a strange, back-roads Americana way.  Babe had never seen anyone like him.  His face was lit up in white planes and deep shadows because of the fluorescent overhead lights, circled by fluttering moths.  He wore jeans and a white t-shirt which also clung to his lean, lithe form.  But Babe could see the slight swell of his arm muscles as he held himself against the railing, as his hand twitched and he brushed off the ash.  His hair was dark and he wore boots and he looked _dangerous, dangerous, dangerous,_ but also real good, and Babe thought _what the hell, it’ll probably be a while anyway,_ so he shoved his hands in his pockets and sauntered toward the stranger, hair almost neon under the harsh lights.  The stranger glanced his way on his approach and _oh, he’s more beautiful than I thought._

“Evenin’,” the man rumbled and _good Lord, his voice stopped Babe in his tracks,_ “Can I help you with somethin’?”

Babe forced his shoulders to relax.  He extended a hand.  “I’m Babe,” he introduced, and was impressed that his voice didn’t crack.

The man eyed him warily for a second, like he expected a joke, then he put his cigarette in the corner of his mouth and extended his own hand, murmuring “Gene,” around his smoke.

“Hot night, ain’t it?”  Babe asked, going for casual.

“Sure is.”  Gene said, his hand falling back.  He took another drag from his cigarette.

“Hey, uh…” Babe cleared his throat.  “Gene.  Think I can bum a smoke?”

Gene smiled softly…or maybe it was just the quirk of his lips around his cigarette, but he said “Alright,” and held out his pack to Babe.

Babe tapped out a cigarette and leaned forward so that Gene could light it for him, the man’s hands pale and nimble, his fingers long and cupping the flame so precisely.  Babe couldn’t believe his luck.  “Thanks,” Babe breathed, and the smoke was just slightly warmer than the air. 

He sidled just a little bit closer and leant on the balcony railing next to Gene, simply listening to the hum of air conditioning units and the distant sound of traffic from interstate 59.  Gene didn’t seem like the talkative type, and Babe didn’t wanna push his luck, so they each smoked in silence and endured the heat.  Finally, though, Gene finished his cigarette and stubbed it out on the railing.  He turned to Babe and said “Well, I’m headed in.  Have a good night, Babe.”

“Yeah, you too, Gene.  Thanks again.”  Babe murmured, lips turning up because man, this guy was beautiful and polite and his voice was _killing_ Babe, and he knew he’d never see him again. 

Gene smiled, maybe a bit sadly, and said “Any time.”

Babe watched his retreat, watched his door shut: room 209.  Then he was alone, entirely, and his cigarette was mostly gone.  He heaved a deep breath and sighed. 

A few minutes later, Bill popped his head out of their room and said “Hey kid, I’m all done.”

Babe stubbed out the remains of his own cigarette, regretfully, cast one last look at the golden numbers of 209, and said “Yeah, Bill, I’m coming,” before wandering back into the shivery light of the room.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The next day was long.  Bill drove in the morning, stopping occasionally for them to take in the sights along I-81: mostly trees and trees, a kitschy diner here or there, and _oh hey, Babe, look,_ more trees.  They stopped for lunch at a regular old greasy spoon diner, the kind that Babe not-so-secretly loved, where you walk in and immediately smell coffee, grease, and pancakes.  God, it was like coming home.  An elderly waitress greeted them, and they took a seat at a booth near the back of the restaurant.  Babe was starving and he ordered a cheeseburger and fries, and strawberry milkshake because he was a grown man, goddamnit Bill, and he _could._ He jiggled his leg while he waited and hummed an unthinking tune under his breath, not realizing that Bill watched him out of the corner of his eye.  When their food came, Babe was ready to inhale it, only… he found that he wasn’t quite as hungry anymore.  Mostly, he dragged his fries through a huge glob of ketchup and stared at them idly before finally taking a bite.  He must have done this for a while, because Bill finally huffed and set his coffee down, saying “What the hell’s wrong with ya, huh, Babe?  You been acting all morose since last night.”

Babe jerked, and thought back, shrugging it off.  “It’s nothin’.  Just tired, is all.”

Bill eyed him steadily for a minute before he let his own shoulders relax.  “Guess we did haul ass, didn’t we?  All the way from Texas.  Suppose you’re used to your naps, huh?”

Babe frowned—Bill and the other guys never quite let up, never let him forget he was the kid of the group.  “Eh, shut up, Bill.”  He grumbled.

Bill laughed.  “Seriously, though.  Just today and another hard day of driving, and then we’ll be back home and you can have your Ma’s cooking again.”

Babe smiled.  That _was_ something he’d missed on this trip.  Diner food was all well and good for a handful of days, but after that, he started to feel all weighed down and gross and he really just wanted his Ma’s food again.  So with that thought, Babe took a long slurp of his strawberry milkshake and said “Yeah, you’re right.  But I’m driving after we leave here… _and_ I get to pick the motel.”

Bill smirked.  “Any place under sixty dollars.  We’re running short on funds, here.”

Babe hid his grin behind his cheeseburger.  He’d never admit it, but he sort of liked those run-down motels, too.

 

* * *

 

 

That evening, Babe pulled off the highway just south of Baltimore.  He fucking _hated_ Baltimore, and he fully intended to let Bill deal with that traffic in the morning, which Bill knew, if his grumbling was anything to go by.

This place was marginally better than the one the night before.  First: the lights didn’t flicker, which Babe (and his eyes) were eternally grateful for.  Second: there was a diner just up the road, which Babe knew would come in handy when Bill inevitably pulled out his phone tonight and Babe played the good best friend and discreetly left the room. 

So he was prepared for it when it came: he had a plan.  He would take the few crumpled bills he had left and walk on over to the diner and get himself some coffee and a slice of pie, maybe, and he wouldn’t even care how long Bill was on the phone with Frannie tonight.  He was prepared.  He was ready.  He patted his pockets down for his keys, his phone, and his wallet, and then he was out the door, a jaunt in his step, until he pulled up just outside the door, his eyes squinting down at the parking lot.  There was Bill’s car: a respectable Jeep, good for all terrain (like hauling ass over half the United States.)  Next to it was an empty space, then a Camry (for God’s sake!) and then on the other side of that, a dark blue pick-up truck with a rust spot on the back, which Babe could have sworn he’d seen before.

He cast his gaze sideways, almost like he was afraid to look, and yes, he’d been right.  Gene stood not twenty feet away, mouth hanging open, staring back at him.  Babe reluctantly pulled the door shut behind him and shifted his feet awkwardly, nervously, his pulse jumping with the first wisps of fight or flight.  “Uh…Gene?  What are you doin’ here?”

Gene crossed his arms over his chest and said “I was just about to ask you the same thing.”

Babe panicked.  His brain whirred, with all of his mother’s and Bill’s warnings in his head, and he couldn’t help but thinking _Oh God, he’s so beautiful, so sexy, no way is this my luck.  Maybe he’s a serial killer or something.  Oh God, WHAT IF HE’S A SERIAL KILLER OR SOMETHING?!_ Babe swallowed thickly and he heard his throat click.  “Uh.  Road trip with my best friend.  You?”

“Movin’.”  Gene conceded.

Babe knew it was probably pushing his luck, but he couldn’t help himself, he’d really never had any control, and the whole thing was just too surreal, so he blurted “You’re not a serial killer, are you?”

Gene stared at him a moment then burst out laughing and _Jesus, his voice was heaven.  Babe had never blasphemed so much in his life.  He was going to hell._ “Not last I checked,” Gene chuckled.

And while that was a pretty dubious answer, Babe decided to let it slide.  “Yeah, me neither.”  He grinned at himself.  “So, uh…maybe this is a bit weird, but… where were you headed just now?”  Gene cocked his head, like maybe he was re-thinking Babe’s assertion of innocence, but Babe rushed to add “Because I mean… my friend is in there talking to his girlfriend and it’ll probably be a while.  I was headed to the diner up the road and thought maybe you’d like to join me?”

Gene’s lips smoothed into a soft smile. “Alright.  That might be nice.”  And so, warily but hopefully the two of them headed toward the diner, keeping pace with each other and casting curious glances out of the corners of their eyes when they thought the other wasn’t looking—they only got caught once or twice. 

This diner welcomed Babe like all the others, but the lights were softer here, less hostile and as Babe and Gene settled into a booth next to the window, Babe could see that Gene’s eyes were a deep blue and his dark hair looked soft to the touch.  He wore a black t-shirt today and whereas the night before, Babe thought he maybe looked dangerous, tonight Babe thought he looked rather young, and sweet, and his pale skin held a blush now high in his cheeks.  They ordered as if by rote, not daring to really look at each other until their menus were taken and they had nothing between them but a couple condiment bottles a Formica table top.  Babe tapped his fingers against the table, wondering what to say in this situation.  He went for his best version of subtle, still not 100% about the serial killer thing.  “So, Gene.  Heck of a coincidence, huh?  Us both being at the same little motel two nights in a row.”

Gene nodded.  “It is.”  He laughed softly to himself.  “I promise I wasn’t followin’ you, though, if that’s what you’re still thinkin’.”  He swirled one of his own fingers around on the table, tracing patterns that only he could see.  “I was just tryin’ to make good time.  Have somewhere I gotta be in a couple days.”

“Yeah,” Babe said, deciding to believe him.  “So, uh… how old are you, Gene?”

Gene’s brows knit together but he shrugged and answered the question anyway. “I’m 26.  You?”

Babe frowned, suddenly feeling even younger than he usually did.  “Twenty two.”  He smiled.  “But I’ll be 23 in a few months.”  Gene nodded his head, politely.  “Me and Bill—that’s my friend that I’m travelin’ with, we’re just coming back from visitin’ an old pal who just moved out to Texas.  Decided a road trip would be nice.”

“Was it?”  Gene’s deep voice made the question seem more serious than it probably was, though the slight quirk to his pale lips gave it a hint of playfulness that Babe was starting to understand was probably just the nature of this guy. 

“In theory,” Babe chuckled.  “I mean, yeah, it was cool seeing all the interesting stuff and hanging out with Bill because we’re like brothers, ya know… but if I’m bein’ honest, I’m tired and miss my own bed and Bill’s taste in music sucks.  He’s had country music blasting every time he gets behind the wheel and he insists on singin’ along.  He’s not a good singer, Gene.  In fact, he don’t even like country music.  Probably never even listened to it before in his life.”

Gene snorted.  “Then why did he now, do you think?”

Babe pouted.  “He said it was for the aesthetic, but I think he just did it because he knew I couldn’t escape without jumpin’ out of a movin’ vehicle.”

Now Gene actually laughed and it transformed his face, his eyes squinting up as they creased with laugh lines, his pale lips parting to show even, white teeth.  “Your friend sounds like he’s just a bit evil.”

Babe snorted.  “You got that right.”

Just then, the waitress brought them their orders—coffee and blueberry pie for Babe, coffee and a slice of chocolate cake for Gene.  Babe watched as Gene lifted the mug of coffee and sipped it black, his eyes fluttering closed in pleasure as he did.  Babe’s mouth hung open and he was so distracted he didn’t even realized he’d dumped one too many sugars into his own so that it was sickly sweet.  He quickly averted his gaze before Gene could notice. 

They ate in silence for a few minutes, simply enjoying the rush of caffeine, sugar, and good company, before Babe asked “So, what do you do for a living?”  It was supposed to sound friendly, casual, but as the words left his mouth, Babe realized this sounded like a date.

Gene smiled softly, like he was seeing something more than the diner or Babe before him.  “I’m a doctor.”

Babe stared for a moment.  “Really?”

Gene chuckled.  “Yeah.  Really.”  He twisted his coffee mug in his fingers for a moment.  “I just got my residency approved, and I’m headed there now.”

“Wow,” Babe murmured.  “That’s really cool.  Do you like it?”

“I do,” Gene said.  “I figure I gotta spend my time somehow, I might as well do it helpin’ people.”  He smiled to himself.  “My grandmother was a sort of doctor, for poor folks back home.  Helped ‘em with home remedies and the like.  I used to help her when I was a boy, and I guess I just…took to it.  Never really looked back.”

Babe fiddled with the edge of the table.  “Isn’t it exhausting?”

“Sure,” Gene conceded.  “But it’s worth it.”  He took a sip of his coffee.  “So what do you do, Babe?”

Well, now Babe didn’t want to mention it.  Not now that he was sitting a table with a _doctor,_ someone who was obviously good and educated, and doing something _useful_ with his life.  He sighed, but forced a smile.  “I’m a bartender back home.”

But Gene’s eyes and his smile didn’t change—there was no flicker of disappointment, no condescending lip curl or judgmental stare.  Gene just nodded and said “That sounds pretty exciting.”  He parroted Babe’s question back at him.  “Do you like it?”

Babe thought about it for a minute, assessing his life choices and searching for the honest answer.  Finally, he shrugged.  “Yeah, I do.  It’s got flexible hours, the pay is pretty decent, and I get to hang out with my friends at work.  Plus it’s not far from my apartment, so I can walk there and back, which is a blessin’ in the winter time, let me tell you.”

Gene’s lips turned down in chagrin, just for a moment.  “So I’ve heard.”

Babe was about to reply when his phone vibrated with a text from Bill: _Off the phone with Frannie.  Where you at?_

Babe cleared his throat.  “Sorry, Gene, I just have to text Bill for a second.”  Gene murmured that it was no problem while Babe typed: _At the diner.  Be back in a bit._

Bill: _Want some company?_

Babe: _Uh… I’m actually here with someone I met._

Bill: _Goddamnit Babe, what did I tell ya about talkin’ to strangers?_

Babe: _It’s okay.  He’s a doctor, and I don’t think he’s a serial killer.  I’ll be okay._

Bill: … _I can’t even tell if you’re jokin’ anymore.  Look, if you’re not back in an hour, I’m coming to look for ya.  What does this guy look like, anyway, so I know who to hunt down if you go missin?_

Babe:  _He’s lean…like a runner.  He’s got dark hair and dark blue eyes, and his skin is pale, but in a…nice way.  He looks serious but he actually smiles a lot.  Oh, and he’s wearing jeans and a black t-shirt._

Bill: _Oh my fucking God._

And apparently, that was the last straw for Bill, because he stopped texting after that.

Babe glanced up sheepishly to find Gene watching him with a fond smile on his face.  “Sorry about that.  Bill can be a bit…overprotective at times.”

Gene nodded.  “It’s understandable.”  He cleared his throat and looked down at this coffee mug, now mostly empty.  “Is he your…uh….  Are you two…?”

Babe blushed, finally understanding.  “No!  No way.  Nah, it’s not like that with Bill and me.  He’s got a girlfriend back home, Frannie.  She’s great.”

Gene’s lips quirked but he still didn’t raise his eyes.  “He’s got a girlfriend.  But… you don’t?”

 _God,_ Babe could _feel_ his face heating up with the blush.  “Nope,” he answered briskly.  “No girlfriend for me.”  He tapped the table top nervously, leg jittering restlessly underneath.  “No boyfriend either,” he added, just for good measure.

Gene’s eyes darted up, finally, and Babe could see what he thought might be a flash of hope there, which… _ridiculous,_ right?  No way would a guy like Gene go for someone like Babe.  Right?  Babe cleared his throat.  Didn’t matter.  They were never gonna see each other again after tonight.  No use getting invested in something that wasn’t meant to happen. 

Babe frowned, suddenly feeling like someone had a vice grip on his heart.

Gene reached across the table, eyes drawn in worry, his long, pale fingers gently brushing the back of Babe’s hand, gaining his attention instantly.  “Whoa, you okay?”  He asked, the concern in his voice genuine.

“Yeah,” Babe said, as his hand tingled under the other man’s touch.  “I’m good.”  He met Gene’s eyes.  “It’s just funny, ya know?  Sometimes you just meet someone and….  Well, it don’t matter.”

“Tell me,” Gene asked, voice soft and soothing, and _God,_ Babe wanted to do what he asked.

Babe took a deep breath, suddenly feeling foolish.  His Ma always told him he had a tendency to fall too fast.  “It’s just… I like you, okay?  And it’s funny cuz we ended up in the same place two nights in a row, complete strangers, right?  But now we’re sittin’ here, gettin’ to know one another.  And.  I like you.”  Babe snorted, but it was bitter this time.  “And it don’t matter at all, because after tonight, we’ll probably never see each other again.”

The words hung heavy between them, and eventually Gene sighed, finally withdrawing his hand.  “I see what you mean.”

Babe shifted in his seat, suddenly sad and uncomfortable, and the diner felt stifling.  He cleared his throat, pushing down the tightening feeling that threatened to overwhelm him.  “You wanna head back?”  He asked.

“Sure,” Gene said, crawling out of the booth. “It’s gettin’ late, anyway.  Got an early morning ahead of me.”  Maybe Babe wasn’t imagining how mournful it sounded.

They paid their bill then headed back to the motel, a stark, fluorescent shock of plaster and pavement in the otherwise soft, dark, countryside, the distant lights of Baltimore just barely lighting the horizon.

They walked in silence with the exception of their breaths in the hot, humid air and their shoes scuffing the crumbling pavement below.  Occasionally, their shoulders brushed, and Babe’s heart already felt bruised, which….ridiculous, right?  He barely knew the guy.  They were nearly there, and Babe couldn’t stand the idea of leaving it like this.  He turned to Gene as they rambled up into the parking lot.  “So, uh… you never said.  Where’s your residency at?”

“Philadelphia.”

Babe’s feet stopped of their own accord and he reached out to Gene, his hand finding Gene’s shoulder to stop him as well.  “You’re kiddin’, right?”

Gene frowned.  “No.  Why?”

Babe’s face broke out in a huge grin, and his heart thumped back to life.  “That’s where I’m from!  Where Bill and I are headed back to.  Philly.”

Gene’s eyes widened at the revelation.  “That…is interesting.  Who woulda thought, huh?”

“Right?”  Babe laughed.  “Feel like God’s messin’ with us right now.”

Gene just smiled softly, scuffing his toe against the broken pavement of the parking lot, his fingers twitching like he longed to reach out toward Babe but was afraid to.

“Hey, Gene,” Babe started, and Gene’s dark eyes, glittering in the glaring lights of the motel, fixed on his.  “Would you like to have coffee with me, sometime?  Once you’re settled in, I mean.”

Gene’s pale lips curved into a soft, beautiful smile and his deep, accented voice purred “I’d love to.”


End file.
